


Things Happen

by A_Cautionary_Tale



Series: Need More Zsasz? [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Brainwashed Oswald Cobblepot, Butch Gilzean (mentioned) - Freeform, Hugo Strange (mentioned) - Freeform, POV Oswald Cobblepot, POV Victor Zsasz, Tabitha Galavan (mentioned) - Freeform, nicewald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 02:07:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18174434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Cautionary_Tale/pseuds/A_Cautionary_Tale
Summary: Zsasz's frown deepened, but he holstered his gun and returned to his seat. “Okay Chief.  How ‘bout you tell me what happened in Arkham.”Oswald beamed. “Yes, I should, maybe Professor Strange can help you too!”-Zsasz takes in Oswald after Hugo Strange brainwashes him in Arkham.-Best read after "Catch Up" but can be read independently.





	1. POV OSWALD

**Author's Note:**

> For full emotional impact I recommend reading "Catch Up" part one of my series 'Need More Zsasz' but if you don't want to just know that Ed and Zsasz used to be close before Zsasz started killing. 
> 
> I'm posting this whole thing all in one go. I split it in two parts to divide Oswald's POV from Zsasz's POV, but it is all one continuous story and needs to be read in order.

People died on the streets in winter. Oswald knew this. The first dead body he'd ever encountered was a man frozen to death in a back alley. He remembered how the beat cop he called over had told him with a look of utmost annoyance that he should just mind his own business. He'd left the corpse with the rubbish and that was that. 

As the cold wind scraped against his flesh, seeping into his dampened clothing, Oswald wondered for the first-time what sort of life the frozen man had led. Had he been a victim of circumstance or had his fall to the cold hard pavement been well deserved? Had he been a bad man? Would his fate have been any different if he'd been a good person? Oswald did not know, he imagined he might never know. 

No matter what the man did, he doubted he could have ever been as bad as Penguin. To end up friendless and alone on the streets of his beloved Gotham seemed a fitting end. 

Oswald clinched his fists tighter trying to squeeze the frost from his fingertips. He was not Penguin. He could be good. Professor Strange had told him good things happened to good people. 

There was a small group, huddled around a trashcan fire, beneath a nearby overpass. Oswald smiled at the comradery depicted before him. 

If he could only prove that he was good, well and truly good, then maybe he could turn his life around. 

“Hello good fellows,” Oswald called out as he limped down the uneven pavement. “I was hoping I might join you around that lovely fire you have there.” 

They were like a little family of two older men with a teenage girl and boy. The children watched Oswald's approach with suspicion, but why shouldn't they? He was a stranger approaching from the darkness. 

The larger of the two men stepped forward. “I don't believe this shit. You got some nerve coming here, Penguin.” 

Oswald stopped a few feet away from the man, just within the glow of the fire. “Oh, sir, I assure you I'm not— 

The man lunged forward without warning. Oswald didn't see the bottle in the man's hand until it cracked against his skull, sending Oswald tumbling to the ground, and then the man was on top of him. Striking him over and over again. 

Oswald did his best to fend him off, he could feel the warm rush of blood spilling from his body. 

This was it. He had been too late in his efforts to change, and now he was going to be denied the chance entirely. 

“Mikhail, leave him. Run!” 

Just as swiftly as the attack began it ended. The weight of the man shifted off of him, but Oswald didn't dare move. He knew he'd been cut badly and feared exacerbating his wounds. 

A low tuneless whistle echoed beneath the bridge, followed by heavy footsteps. A police officer perhaps? Some of the crooked ones gave a courtesy whistle to give criminals a chance to get out of dodge. 

“Help! Please!” Oswald cried out, turning his head back toward the flames in hopes of seeing his possible savior. 

The whistling faltered to a stop, but the footsteps continued, growing softer as they approached. A tall dark figure loomed into the firelight and continued forward, silhouetted until a well-shined combat boot stopped right in front of Oswald’s nose. 

“Chief?” 

Zsasz. 

Oswald's breath caught. 

What does one say to a serial killer when one's already lying wounded on the ground? 

He decided to go with the obvious. “Please help me.” 

Pain shot through Oswald as a rough hand pressed into the wound on his side, causing him to shudder and pass out.

* * *

When Oswald woke back up Zsasz was sitting on a folding chair quietly watching him. His hands were coated in a murky red and his sleeves were rolled up revealing several rows of scars. 32—no 34 had been at Penguin's bidding. 

With a shaky breath Oswald realized even more of his own upper torso was exposed. Dull pain stretching from his bandaged hands and arms down to his tightly wrapped left side reminded him where he'd last been. 

“Thank you.” 

Zsasz edged his way closer. “Why were you out there?” 

There was a dangerous edge to the man's voice that Oswald felt he hadn't heard before, or perhaps Penguin just hadn't been paying attention to it… either way it demanded honesty. 

“I, uh, don't seem to have a place to stay.” With that statement it dawned on Oswald, he was obviously intruding on Victor Zsasz's time and hospitality. “I should leave.” 

Pushing himself up into a sitting position on the metal gurney sent Oswald suddenly pitching forward as all sense of equilibrium quit on him and a fresh wave of pain coursed through him. 

A single hand caught his shoulder and forced him back down onto the gurney. “Stay down, Chief.” 

Oswald blinked. He could feel himself shaking. 

“I'm not your boss anymore, Victor. I can't afford you and even if I could, I’m afraid I wouldn't be able to keep a man such as yourself in my employ any longer. Please don't kill me.” 

Victor's eyes widened with mild interest. He tilted his right ear up and leaned in even closer. 

“Why not?” 

For a moment Oswald panicked trying to think of a reason he should live, but the confused crease in the man's brow cued him into what Victor was truly asking. 

“I'm not that man anymore. I'm not the Penguin, I'm just Oswald Cobblepot and I'm trying to be a good person.” 

Zsasz frowned slightly at this, more like he was further confused than angry, which Oswald took to be a good sign. He just needed to explain better. 

“I'm not planning on murdering anymore people so, I think you'd get bored working for me.” 

Zsasz continued studying him for a moment then asked, “If you're not the Penguin anymore why do you have feathers?” 

Oswald stared up into Zsasz's dark eyes and the man stared right on back. He could never tell if Zsasz was serious or if the assassin was just having a go at his expense. Still, he figured, honesty was the best policy. Zsasz always told the truth, so he should return the favor. 

Oswald sighed. “I thought Butch was my friend so I went to see if he'd help me, but he was understandably still upset about what Penguin did to his hand and Tabitha Galavan was there and she was also upset about the part Penguin played in her brother's demise, so they tarred and feathered me. All things considered they were actually pretty forgiving.” 

Zsasz rose drawing out one of his guns. 

Oswald flinched at the sight of it, not because he feared what it might do to him, but because it sent a shockwave of memories cascading through his mind of all the terrible things Penguin had done with such an implement. 

Zsasz didn't acknowledge his discomfort at all as he continued to the door. 

Oswald struggled to trace the man's movements leaning painfully on one arm. “Where are you going?” 

“Give ‘em a lesson in respect, Chief.” Zsasz nodded. 

Oswald successfully pulled himself into a seated position. Waves of pain washed over him to the point he felt nauseated. Still he managed to hold himself together long enough to call out, “Please, Victor, no, please!” 

Zsasz cast a look of interest over his shoulder. 

Oswald latched onto the opportunity to further plea his case. “Killing people is wrong Victor. I know you have to. I understand that, but just please don't kill anyone else for me. Please.” 

Zsasz's frown deepened, but he holstered his gun and returned to his seat. “Okay Chief. How ‘bout you tell me what happened in Arkham.” 

Oswald beamed. “Yes, I should, maybe Professor Strange can help you too!”

* * *

Victor was a good listener, always had been. He asked very few questions, but they were the sort of questions Oswald hadn't really considered himself. 

“Does anyone else know about the therapy room?” 

Oswald blinked. “Well one time I went down there and they had another patient strapped to the device, but I let him out.” Oswald licked his lips looking back up at Zsasz for guidance. “Do you think that was good or bad? I wasn't sure because, I knew how bad the device hurt so I let him out, but I guess I should have let him stay and get therapy. So maybe that was bad…” 

“The therapy was bad, Chief.” Zsasz answered flatly. 

“No, Victor.” Oswald shook his head. The poor man still wasn't getting it. “The therapy helped me be sane.” 

Zsasz huffed in annoyance. “Chief, do you remember what you told me before you went to kill Galavan?” 

Oswald considered this for a moment, then shook his head. “Sorry, a lot of my Penguin memories are spotty.” He smiled at the assassin, as a sign of no ill will. 

“You wouldn't let me go with you, ‘cause you thought you might die and you wanted me to hit Galavan if you failed.” Zsasz explained, frowning. “You said, if you succeeded you might have to cover for Jim, but it was okay, ‘cause you'd just _fake_ being crazy to get into Arkham instead of Blackgate. Said, you'd be right back out again.” 

Oswald nodded. “I do vaguely remember something like that— 

“Chief you weren't crazy to begin with so what d'ya think that machine really did to you?” Zsasz asked tilting his head expectantly. 

“Uhm… I guess I didn't realize then that I was crazy.” 

The hitman let out a disappointed sigh. “Okay Chief, they did real good work on you. No trigger words to remember, logical shit don't work, and by the sounds of it added pain just reinforces the conditioning.” 

Oswald nodded along, though the assassin's words were only growing more confusing. “What?” 

“What'd Professor Strange tell you to do? The last thing he told you to do?” 

Oswald thought for a moment before replying sadly, “He told me I had to leave. I wanted to stay there, but sane people can't stay in Arkham. He told me though that if I was good, good things would happen to me. So, I just have to be good!” 

“How has that worked out so far, Chief?” 

Oswald smiled up at the man fondly. “Well, you saved my life, so that's good.” 

Zsasz rolled his eyes. “Think you can stand?” 

Oswald's grin evaporated as he realized he'd probably overstayed his welcome yet again. He carefully lowered himself from the gurney to the floor. The wound along his side protested furiously, but Oswald ignored it. 

He looked back up to find Zsasz standing next to him, looking pensive. “Sure, you're okay, Chief?” 

Oswald forced a grin. “Of course. Victor, I can't thank you enough, you've been more friend to me than anyone else has and I hope good things happen to you too.” 

A look of confusion clouded Zsasz's face. “Uh, sure thing, Chief. I was just gonna say I really think you should take a shower, start working the tar out of your hair…” 

“You're not making me leave?” 

“No Chief, I think you better stay here.” 

Without a second thought Oswald wrapped his arms around the man's torso. 

Zsasz didn't reciprocate the hug, but he put up with it for a few moments before speaking. 

“I think we're gonna need a few house rules…” 

Oswald's eyes shot open wide. He was hugging a serial killer. 

“I'm sorry.” Oswald stammered releasing Zsasz. “I—no one's been willing to help me. Even Ed turned me away.” 

“It's fine Chief, I get it.” He sounded more annoyed than understanding. 

Oswald felt the sharp pinpricks of tears threatening to be shed. 

“If it's alright I'll take that shower now.”

* * *

As Oswald stood under the warm cascade of water, he tried to remember the last time he'd had access to such a comfort. It had to have been before Arkham, but he just couldn't recall when. So much of his past was muddled; a side effect of the device. 

Dark oil swirled around his feet. He'd been so sure Butch would help him. It felt like the man had been a constant companion for Penguin… It made him question his memories of Zsasz. 

The main one was that he always had to pay Zsasz. Now he had no money, but the assassin didn't seem bothered by this fact. 

Who was Victor Zsasz to Penguin? 

Oswald ghosted a hand along the neat stitches that lined his left side and shoulder. 

Victor Zsasz did good work. 

A thought occurred to him, if he looked, he would find guns in this room. In every room, because Victor was prepared and perceptive. Penguin had given him money for more weapons and had most likely purchased the very medical supplies that had saved his life. 

Penguin had even gone so far as to get the man a set of surgical steel blades for Zsasz’s box cutter, because he'd been worried about infection. Zsasz had been an important asset to the Penguin's empire and Zsasz had stayed because Penguin let him play. 

Oswald frowned at that. Zsasz was a killer at heart, happiest when hunting. That meant he was bad, but… 

He traced his fingertips down the longest gash in his side. Every tight stich matched its predecessor, crafted by careful, steady hands. 

Zsasz wasn't like other thugs. Men who sought to take whatever they could and leave nothing, but destruction in their wake. Necessary men, for running the criminal underworld, but not Zsasz. Penguin had kept Zsasz for protection. A safe guard against those men, someone who could keep them in line through pure fear of Zsasz. 

A memory resurfaced and he felt such a strong need to share it with Victor that he turned off the facet. After toweling himself off and throwing on a very loose set of pajamas, he paused to flip the lid on the back of the toilet. Sure, enough there was a knife and an ammo clip bagged and taped to the underside. He neatly set it back into place then limped out of the steamy room. 

“I remembered why you call me Chief.” Oswald announced, before spotting the assassin restocking the fridge. 

Zsasz withdrew from his previous activity, closing the refrigerator door, to watch and listen attentively. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just thought it was kind of funny. I should be helping you with that anyway, you've— 

“Tell me the story, Chief.” 

Oswald stopped and smiled at Victor before taking a seat on the couch. “You and I—Penguin, when Penguin first took control from Falcone, no one respected him. So, we went out and you got eight new marks all in one day. I was worried you were going to bleed out.” Oswald chuckled. “And at the end I said, we were clearly more productive and efficient at ridding Gotham of criminal low-lifes than the entire GCPD, including Jim Gordon and you said—" 

“Happy to serve Chief.” Zsasz smiled and winked, just as he had done at the time. 

“You kill bad people.” Oswald stated excitedly. 

“I'll kill anyone you want Chief.” Zsasz shrugged his expression falling back to neutral. 

“No, that's what I forgot. You prefer bad people. You only ever go after your target, you avoid killing civilians, even cops. It's why I made Butch help me take out the other mayoral candidates, because I knew you wouldn't like that. You do good work Victor.” 

Victor's expression had gone dark. 

Startled, Oswald shifted in his seat. “I-I'm sorry if I spoke out of turn.” 

“There are no good or bad people.” 

Oswald recoiled as though he'd been physically struck. His mind reeled trying to come to terms with what had been said. Finally, he settled into a glum realization. 

“You're only helping me because you want Penguin back.” 

Zsasz didn't answer, he didn't have to. 

Oswald could feel himself breaking down. Everything hurt, and he was just so tired. The tears broke loose with a hiccupping cry. 

“You're going to kill me.” 

Zsasz crouched directly in front of him. “You know I wouldn't do that Chief.” 

Oswald shook his head tears blurring his vision. Poor Victor, try as he might, he couldn't understand. 

“I'm not your Chief.” Oswald pleaded forcing himself to lock eyes with the assassin. “I'm the person you're going to kill trying to get Penguin back.” 

There was a spark of recognition back in the pits of the Victor's dark eyes. He retreated to the far end of the room; leaving Oswald to cry alone.

* * *

Oswald came back into his senses slowly. He'd fallen asleep on the couch, but not before bawling openly, in front of a trained killer, who, if he remembered correctly, had left the apartment after redressing Oswald’s wounds. 

His body ached as he rolled back into a seated position. He needed to shave… 

A quick glance around the room showed no sign of Victor's presence, however there was evidence that he had come back at some point. He'd finished putting the groceries away and there was a fresh set of clothes hanging from the closet door, that looked to be Oswald's size and certainly not Victor's style. 

As Oswald rose to his feet, he spotted the parchment and ink placed out on the small kitchen table. It filled him with dread. He had only signed two contracts with Victor Zsasz. The first had been when he'd sworn over his fealty from Falcone to Penguin. The second had been to ensure Theo Galavan would meet a proper end in the event Penguin was killed before he could accomplish the task. Both times Victor had set before him a piece of parchment, an inkwell and pen, but why were they here now and where was— 

“Mornin'.” 

Oswald almost toppled over the man gave him such a start. He'd come back in through the front door, but Oswald hadn't heard a thing. 

“I got donuts.” The assassin added amiably. 

“How nice, thank you.” Oswald responded absentmindedly. “Uh, Victor, just out of curiosity, why do you have the inkwell set out?” 

“Oh that.” Victor set the box of donuts down on the counter top. “I figured if you're gonna be staying here we should setup house rules, so I don't upset you and stuff.” 

Oswald felt the threatening touch of pinpricks at the corner of his eyes. “Victor you've been so kind to me, but I don't think I can stay here knowing— 

“Oswald.” The word sounded almost uncertain in Victor's mouth, like he was learning a new language. “Read rule number one.” 

Oswald hadn't considered that Zsasz may have already written on the page, now that he looked, he could see the top quarter was already taken up with Victor's tightly lined handwriting.

House Rules

  1. Neither occupant shall try to convince the other to alter their current beliefs, occupation, or mentality. 



Oswald looked over to Zsasz bewildered. “Why? How does this benefit you?” 

Victor popped his shoulder in a brief shrug. “You’re the only friend I got Ch—Oswald.” 

“But— 

“I don't have to stay if you don't want me here. I got other places, but I kinda think the guy last night isn't gonna be the only guy in Gotham that wants to rough you up.” 

“May I hug you?” 

Victor gave him a long-suffering look, but spread his hands to either side allowing Oswald in. He awkwardly patted the smaller man on the back after a moment and Oswald released him. 

“Now have a donut.” Zsasz demanded sliding the box closer. “You didn't eat last night.” 

Oswald had missed quite a few meals actually, but growing up poor had built in certain disciplines. He'd gotten to the point where he was simply not hungry. The donuts didn't even look enticing, but he knew if he let it go too long his appetite would return, with a vengeance. 

He took one and smiled at Zsasz. The hitman smiled back, but Oswald noted it didn't reach his eyes. 

He decided not to question it for now and turned back to the list of rules instead.

  1. The weaponry and equipment stored within the apartment shall not be moved unless needed for defense or maintenance and shall be returned to its previous position after. 
  2. Neither occupant will touch the other without express permission unless necessary to provide medical aid. 



Oswald was glad he'd learned his lesson from the night before, and wondered if Victor had thought he'd read it beforehand. 

“It doesn't say how I'll repay you.” Oswald noted. 

“I want you to stay here Oswald. I'd been looking for you, since you got out of Arkham and it's gonna be a lot easier to keep you here than hunt down every halfwit-thug out there that thinks it'll mean something if they kill the King of Gotham.” 

“I'm not— 

“I know.” 

A shadow flickered across Zsasz's face too quick for Oswald to read what emotion it may have held. 

“People don't care about that.” 

Oswald sighed heavily taking another donut. 

Was it wrong to stay here with Victor? Would Professor Strange consider that bad? Where else could he go? 

“Do you cook?” 

Zsasz’s brow knit. 

Oswald remembered the initial complaints from the kitchen staff when he'd—Penguin had—taken over Fish Mooney's club. Victor was a notorious food thief. Of course, after realizing that, Penguin had made it known to the entire wait staff that Victor Zsasz was to be given whatever he might want, free of charge. 

“I can cook for you. It's not much, but until I manage to get an actual job and start paying my way…” 

“You don't have to— 

“Please, Victor, let me do something!” 

“Alright, if you want to cook that's fine, boss. Just write me a list of anything you need.” 

Oswald smiled, then took a bite of his donut.

* * *

Sharing a meal with Victor Zsasz was not an easy feat. The longer Oswald stayed the more erratic Zsasz's hours became. Some days he didn't show up at all. 

Oswald tried to console himself, after all Victor was a working man and the nature of his work demanded certain leeway, but it also meant that one day the assassin may not return at all. 

It was made worse by the fact Victor didn't want him to leave the apartment. As Victor put it, someone might kill Oswald and then Victor might have to go kill their entire family before torturing them to death. 

It was more than enough of a visual to make sure Oswald stayed put, but… 

This time he'd been gone three days. 

Oswald started to wonder how he'd know if Victor got hurt. Even if he were to leave, he wouldn't know how to find him—like a bolt from the blue he remembered Zsasz's phone number. There was no phone in the apartment, but surely, he could convince someone to let him borrow theirs. Just for one quick call, to make sure Victor was alright. 

It would mean of course he'd have to leave the apartment… 

He limped to the door. It was funny how a cheap white door could be so ominous. 

Oswald reached his hand out, but still hesitated. There were weeks where Penguin hadn't known where Zsasz was. He'd always figured the man would turn up when he was hung— 

The door swung open before him and Zsasz stared down at him. “You been waitin’?” 

Oswald blushed. “I was going to try to call you.” 

Zsasz continued to stare in that odd silent way of his that Oswald had come to associate with the assassin not liking what he was hearing. It usually happened when Oswald forgot himself and started talking about Professor Strange. 

“I'll get you a phone next time I go out.” Zsasz concluded as he stepped into the apartment, shutting the door behind him. 

“It's alright, it was foolish of me to worry.” 

Zsasz quirked his brow, setting a fresh bag of groceries down on the counter before moving on to examine the stew Oswald had on the stovetop. 

“Did you spend all that time on one job or did you have a few back to back?” 

“Just one.” Zsasz answered. “They knew someone was gonna come for ‘em. So, they left Gotham.” 

“They didn't know it was you though?” Oswald asked setting the table. 

Zsasz fidgeted. “No. Would have saved him the trip.” 

Oswald nodded, setting a bowl in front of Zsasz before getting one for himself. 

“This is good.” Zsasz commented, already on his third spoonful before Oswald had a chance to seat himself. 

“Glad you like it.” Oswald smiled. “I imagine you didn't get to eat too well while on the hunt.” 

Zsasz shook his head with a slight frown, going quiet once more. 

Oswald tried to draw him back into a conversation. “I took inventory while you were gone, and I oiled the guns.” 

Zsasz’s look darkened. 

“I'll get you a phone tomorrow.” He said, rising to wash his bowl in the sink. 

Zsasz slunk off into his room, leaving Oswald to wonder where he'd misstepped.

* * *

As promised Zsasz got him a burner phone the next day. It came with a new set of rules.

  1. If Zsasz was going to stay out for multiple days he'd text in, at least once, daily. 
  2. Oswald was only to call him if there was an emergency that required him to leave the apartment. 
  3. If Oswald had to call, he was not to wait for Zsasz to answer. Just let it ring once then hang up. 



Oswald was feeling considerably more confident with phone in hand, but Zsasz still seemed troubled by something and that put Oswald in a state of unease. 

Finally, he worked up the courage to ask. “What's wrong Victor?” 

Victor locked eyes with Oswald for a solid minute before answering. Oswald could practically see the gears turning in the man's head. 

“How long do you think I can go before I take another hit?” He asked his gaze remaining steady and fixed. 

Oswald's lips parted before his mind could come up with an answer. This was a Penguin question… Delving back to that knowledge was still difficult but he had already wracked his brain for remaining insight on Victor… 

He didn't need money. He took that more as a way of keeping score. What he needed was—Oswald looked down at Zsasz's shirt sleeve—direction… someone to pull him back from the edge. 

“How many do you have?” 

“Sixty-six.” 

More than half of that had been from Penguin. The thought left him shaken, but Victor was asking him an important question. He couldn't fall apart right now. 

Falcone had practically starved the man and then threatened to retire. Penguin had always thought he'd have to go through Zsasz to get to Falcone, but the assassin had come to him. They'd understood each other. 

Oswald tensed realizing despite his corrections, he understood Zsasz as well. Zsasz needed it. He could go a fairly long while without killing, especially if he was allowed to play with the previous one, but in the end he'd grow anxious. He'd turn up at Penguin's side unbidden and stay there until Penguin sent him out or worse went out with him. Zsasz had loved that. 

“You haven't been— 

Oswald made a vague hand gesture rather than stating anything outright. 

“No, he won't let me.” Zsasz shook his head. “The only reason he gives me jobs is, ‘cause I ask, but I'm worried he's getting sick of me. The guy knew, Chief— 

A sudden flicker of rage took hold of the Victor’s face. “Oswald. Sorry, I shouldn't even be talking to you about this.” 

Zsasz stood abruptly almost toppling his chair as he made a beeline to the door. 

“Victor wait, I want to help!” Oswald limped forward catching Zsasz by the sleeve. 

Zsasz looked down at his hand. Oswald gasped releasing him. He'd broken a rule. 

“I'm s-sorry.” Oswald stammered. 

Zsasz disappeared through the front door, leaving Oswald alone again.

* * *

Oswald soon came to hate the phone. 

Everyday another text, same as the last, ‘alive'. 

The knot in his chest only grew worse when he found the kitchen restocked with groceries. 

Oswald pulled out the phone and typed in, ‘You're avoiding me'. His thumb hesitated over the send button. 

Zsasz could have a good reason for his actions. With their last discussion there was a chance the man was pushing his limits by not hunting. Oswald felt no fear around Zsasz, but maybe he should. His lack of fear was based around all the interactions Penguin had held with Zsasz. Penguin and Zsasz had been—alike, but Oswald was not. Oswald was more aligned with what Zsasz might consider prey… 

Oswald deleted his text. 

‘You're the strongest person I know and I'm always here if you want to talk.’ He struck send without hesitating. 

Zsasz didn't respond. Oswald didn't expect him to.

* * *

‘alive' 

‘alive' 

‘alive' 

‘alive' 

Copy and paste. Over and over. 

The house was spotless. He kept the meals for one. The weapons had, been cleaned and re-cleaned, checked and rechecked. 

Oswald was debating texting Zsasz that he was going out. Technically there was no rule against his leaving. Zsasz had simply, repeatedly, stated his desire for Oswald to remain. He wondered how the man would react. Would he come back to ensure Oswald remained or would he simply text back, ‘alive' 

‘I'm going 

Oswald's heart stopped. Someone was fumbling with the lock on the door. 

He crept away from it, painfully slow, forcing his leg straight in an effort to limit the sound of his footsteps. He retrieved a magnum from Zsasz's room and pressed his back against the wall, waiting. 

He waited for what felt like an eternity before he lurched forward gun in hand pausing a few feet from the door. There was no sound. 

He hadn't left the apartment since his unconscious entry. He'd often wondered if they had neighbors. Perhaps some drunkard had picked the wrong room in their inebriated state. 

Oswald crossed to the door. Removing his left hand from the gun, he opened it. 

“Victor! Oh God!” He dropped the gun on the floor and dragged Zsasz inside. 

Zsasz startled at the touch jerking away, until a single dark eye landed on Oswald, the other one swollen shut. 

Oswald's hands were slick with blood. The clothes Victor was wearing weren't his own and what he could see of Victor was so bloody and torn that he hardly recognized the assassin. 

“I'm too heavy.” He mumbled, trying to right himself. 

Oswald could see him shaking, but Zsasz managed to drag himself up onto the couch, where he collapsed with a ragged cough. 

“You need a doctor.” Oswald pulled out his phone. 

“Oswald— 

He faltered into another coughing fit. 

“No.” 

His dark eye fluttered trying to hold Oswald's gaze. 

“Blackgate.” 

Oswald froze phone in bloodied hand, looking down at his suffering friend. Victor had never been arrested. Even Barnes hadn't dared try capturing Victor Zsasz, but broken and bleeding like this… Given half a chance would they even allow Victor the chance to face trial or would there be some convenient complication in surgery? 

“I don't know what to do?” Oswald squeaked. “Victor?” 

Victor didn't respond his eye had slid shut, but Oswald could tell by the way his face contorted, he was still very much awake and in pain. 

“You must know someone I can call!” 

Victor shook his head, gritting his teeth. “Setup.” 

Hot tears ran freely down Oswald's face. There were medical supplies in the room right next to them, but Oswald didn't know how to use them. Why hadn't he learned how to use them? 

A memory struck him. Looking back down at his phone his fingers flowed automatically across the digits plugging in the number to the only man he knew that might save Victor. Hearing the phone ring sounded surreal in his ear. He silently prayed something good would happen. 

“Hello?” 

Oswald gasped almost forgetting to speak. “Ed, I need your help, please.” 

“Hmm, yeah I'm kind of working on a piece of performance art— 

“Victor's dying!” Oswald blurted out in desperation. 

“Victor who?”

* * *

It felt wrong leaving Victor alone in his state, but Ed had needed the address and Victor wouldn’t wake up. So now here he was standing outside for the first time in over a month. They had no neighbors. It was the only room in the building's basement. It must have been meant for a maintenance worker or something. 

Ed's car pulled up along the sidewalk and Oswald almost tripped himself running to it. 

Ed stepped out carrying his medical kit. 

“Thank you, so much— 

“Where is he?” 

Oswald led him down the stairs he'd only discovered minutes before; his anxiety doubling with every step. 

What if they were too late? 

What if Victor woke up to find Oswald had abandoned him? 

Oswald was sobbing again by the time they had reached the bottom of the stairs. 

Ed passed Oswald throwing open the door, only to pause in the doorway. A strange look of sorrow and uncertainty played across Ed’s face, before he seemed to regain his senses and entered. 

“Victor?” Ed asked kneeling to check the man's pulse. 

Oswald limped past him retrieving the gurney from the medical room. When he returned Ed had removed the blood-soaked jacket to reveal the damage beneath. 

Oswald whimpered at the sight of it. 

He'd seen Zsasz’s body before. Penguin had requested it. He remembered the man's affinity for box cutters, because they allowed him to easily set the depth of the blade. 

The new damage had not been done with a box cutter. Each old wound had been cut deeper, blood flowed freely from the wounds. His arms looked unsalvageable, but even more troubling was the set that had crept over onto his left pectoral. The only sign of life left about his friend was the rasp that accompanied every intake of breath. 

Ed took the gurney from him and lowered it with ease. “Please tell me he keeps blood somewhere.” 

“There's a bag in the fridge.” Oswald said, already moving to get it. 

“How old is it?” 

“I dunno.” 

“Bring it.” 

There were more bags on the bottom shelf than Oswald had realized. Pulling out the first one he found the date on the side matched the last time Zsasz had brought fresh groceries. 

Oswald's heart beat faster as he pulled out the second and third bag. They all matched. 

He'd known. The thought of Victor sitting out here, alone, draining his own blood was unacceptable, but the fact that he must have done it knowing something like this was coming… 

Oswald fought back against the fresh sobs welling in his chest. “There's three from last week.” 

“Good we'll need them.” 

Ed shifted Zsasz from the couch to the gurney and wheeled him back into the room with the medical equipment. He then proceeded to ransack the place for supplies. 

“How can I help?” Oswald asked as Ed took the blood bags from him. 

“Wrap his arms and figure out a way to keep them up. I need to deal with the chest wound first.” Ed grumbled tossing Oswald a roll of gauze. 

“Shouldn't I just tourniquet them?” Oswald asked looking down at the bloody disaster before him. 

Ed shrugged pulling a large syringe from his bag. “Not if you want him to have arms.” 

Oswald shuddered at the thought. Not wanting to distract Ed, he tried to take up as little space as possible and kept his sniffling to a minimal. He worried that the bandaging took him too long, but the final product looked better than he'd hoped. 

Once finished he looked to Ed for further instruction. He was surprised to find he was down to the last blood bag, and worse still, Ed’s cheeks were slick with tears. 

The sight filled Oswald with such dread he felt he might throw up or pass out. 

“What's wrong?” Oswald asked in desperation as his head swam. 

Ed seemed startled by the question. “Nothing, I managed reinflate his lung.” 

“You’re crying.” Oswald noted helplessly. 

Ed's brow knit in consternation. “I can start working on his arms now.” With a shake of his head he unwrapped the first section of bandages from Zsasz's forearm. 

It took several hours, at least that's what the clock said on Oswald’s phone. Oswald felt like it couldn't have been that long, there was simply no way his heart could have kept up the pace. 

Ed laid the final stitch and rewrapped Zsasz’s arms. For a moment he sat there examining Zsasz’s bloody form, then he got up, and walked out of the room. 

“Where are you going?” Oswald called after him, a fresh new panic gripping his chest. 

He was answered by the sound of water running from the kitchen sink. “You know how to change bandages.” Ed stated, returning to the doorframe, but not reentering the room. 

Oswald’s mouth dipped open speechless as he realized, Ed intended to leave. 

After a moment he regained his wits and nodded. “Of course, thank you so much Ed! I'll make sure he knows— 

“No.” 

Oswald blinked taken aback. “No?” 

Ed frowned looking away for a second. “Oswald I—I don't want him to know I helped him. I don't want anything to do with him. Please, try to understand, everything you taught me… It really helped me and, well, I’ve got a lot of stuff falling into place right now. The last thing I need is someone like him stepping on my heels.” 

Oswald looked from Ed to Zsasz and back again. “He's going to want to know…” 

“There must be stuff he doesn't tell you. Tell him you did it, tell him a friend did it, I don't care, just keep my name out of it.” He stepped across the threshold to grab his bag then retreated back out of the room. “Take care of him Oswald.” 

Oswald looked back down at Victor’s chest, rising and falling with ease. 

“Thank you.” He repeated. “Take— 

He looked back up to find Ed had gone.


	2. POV ZSASZ

Victor awoke with a lurch. Everything hurt, but he could breathe. He stilled, taking in the room. This was one of his safe houses… someone had bandaged him and there was Oswald asleep in a chair next to him. Oswald was fully dressed, but his hair looked wet as if he'd showered recently. 

He decided to try moving again. Carefully, he wanted to see how bad off he was. The bandages were pristine, way too well done of a job for Oswald to have managed on his own… 

Silently he slipped off the table and retrieved the knife he'd taped to its underside. He couldn't hear anything besides Oswald's breathing and the steady hum of the fridge in the next room. Still he went slow, ignoring the ache in his chest as he checked the entire apartment. 

No one else was there. He padded back into the room and prodded his friend. 

Oswald almost overturned his seat. “Victor! What are you doing up? You're injured.” 

Zsasz rolled his functioning eye. “I'm fine Oswald.” 

“You almost died!” Oswald accused. 

“Yeah about that, who did the patch job? I owe ‘em big.” 

Oswald's mouth fluttered like a fish seeking water. 

Zsasz frowned. Why was he hesitating? 

“He asked me not to tell you.” 

Zsasz straightened. “Why?” 

Oswald shook his head. “What happened to you?” 

“I thought that was pretty obvious.” He deflected. “I need to know who knows where this safe house is Oswald.” 

He turned to stare Oswald down, but the guy was already starting to tear up again. 

This was really getting to be too much… 

Zsasz sighed, his body protested the simple movement. “If you don't tell me I'll have to move you somewhere else.” 

“Was this because of me?” Oswald's voice hitched halfway through. 

“No.” Victor replied calmly. 

It was because of Penguin. It was revenge for conditioning Butch. It was because he needed someone to tell him who to kill and with Penguin and Falcone gone, Butch had been the next easiest option. It was because Tabitha Galavan found out he still held some measure of sway over Butch. It was because even though Zsasz had realized she'd caught on he'd still answered Butch's call. It was because he needed another cut. It was his own fault. 

It was not Oswald's fault. He had to keep reminding himself of that. 

“I can't tell you, I promised, I'm sorry.” Oswald sputtered. 

It wasn't his fault. 

Victor was just so fucking tired. 

“It’s okay, I've got other places.” He muttered before lowering himself back down onto the gurney. 

He needed to sleep.

* * *

One of the disadvantages of staying in a place with no windows was that you had to look at a clock to tell what time it was; and Victor was not a huge fan of clocks. 

Still Oswald had left the room and turned off the lights, so he imagined it might be late. 

Sitting up wasn't too bad. Bending to take his boots off was murder, but he managed. He needed to get cleaned up, change his bandages and his clothes. 

He needed to get them moved before someone talked. Even if whoever patched him up kept their mouth shut his escape from Tabitha Galavan hadn't exactly been discreet. 

Despite his injuries Zsasz wasn't too upset with Tabitha, had the roles been reversed he would have done the same or worse. Honestly, he admired her, under different circumstances he would've liked to be her friend, but she'd gone and killed Trudy. Eventually she'd have to answer for that. 

He frowned down at Oswald's sleeping form as he passed the couch. He'd told Oswald to take the bedroom several times, but the guy kept leaving it open for the sparse times Zsasz returned. 

Oswald looked weak. He always looked weak, but Zsasz had realized early on there was something tougher than lead down in his core. He'd survive this. 

The question was, would his ambitions return or would Zsasz be left with this shadow? And if that was the case what could Zsasz do with him? Taking him out of Gotham felt wrong, but Oswald would never be safe here. No one ever really was, but at least Penguin had fought back. 

He turned his back on the reverie. Silently willing people to return from the dead hadn't worked for anyone he'd lost prior and he doubted it was going to start working now. 

He waited to turn on the lights until after he closed the bathroom door. He set the fresh spool of bandages, he'd brought in, on the counter and began unraveling the old ones. 

He had to give Tabby credit, she'd really taken her time with him; reopening every scar. Whoever had stitched him up must have had some sort of medical training. He was impressed by the fact he couldn't find a single stich that had crossed over from his scar tissue onto his undamaged skin. 

This was better than any mafia doc he'd encountered… Who did Oswald know? 

Victor paused eyes widening. They hadn't stitched his fresh cuts… they'd known enough to leave the two he'd done during his escape open. 

Who? 

For a moment he considered Strange, but Oswald had assured him previously that he'd never spoken to Strange about him. 

Who did Oswald know? 

It crashed over him like a wave. 

Ed. Oswald had met Ed now. 

Zsasz dropped the bloodied towel back into the sink. This was Ed's work, and Ed didn't want him to know... 

A small smile tugged at the corner of Zsasz’s cheek. Well, when one door closes…

* * *

“Get up. We're leaving.” 

Oswald looked up at him bleary eyed and startled. “Wh-what?” 

“Where are we going?” Oswald asked, fidgeting even as he rose from the couch. 

“I'm taking you out of Gotham. I know a place you can stay.” 

“What? No! Gotham is my home!” 

“Is it?” Victor loomed over the smaller man. “That's what Penguin used to always say.” 

Oswald hesitated; the way Victor had suspected he would. He wished Oswald would snap at him, fight him. Show him something that would prove that his old friend was still in there somewhere. 

Instead Oswald crumbled back into a sobbing mess. “No, please. My mother's here. I can't leave her. You're my only friend.” 

Disappointing. It only cemented Victor's resolve. Oswald couldn't stay in Gotham. He wouldn't survive on his own and Victor’s sense of duty to his former chief was wearing thin. 

If he stayed, Zsasz might kill him. His measure of control was getting worse. 

“Get dressed or don't, your choice Oswald.”

* * *

Oswald was silent, he put up no resistance and got in the car of his own free will. 

Part of Zsasz hoped it meant he'd realized this was for his own good. Another part, the more desperate part that screamed at him when he delayed making a cut, hoped he was wrong. He wanted Oswald to fight this. Wanted him to fight back. Hated the thought of him giving up so much it— 

“Victor,” Oswald gasped, stirring in the back seat. “Stop the car, please!” 

Victor pulled over without question, turning bodily to watch the man behind him. 

“I—I, my mother. I'd like to see her one last time.” 

Victor hadn't realized. They were passing the cemetery. 

He frowned. “Go on then.” 

“Thank you!” 

Oswald sprang from the car and began making his way up the hill. 

Maybe it was a trick. Maybe he'd run away. 

Victor doubted that. 

He understood Oswald's need to see his mother. 

There were grave markers in there for his parents as well, but their bodies had never been recovered. He hated that. Hated this place reminding him. 

None of the others he'd lost since then were buried there, most of them he couldn't risk burying at all… If the GCPD had a body that went unclaimed they eventually had it cremated. It was rumored their ashes coated the local landfill. Back where they belonged, he'd overhead Detective Reynolds say once. 

His hand gravitated to the corresponding mark on his arm. Victor's lip curled, as pain shot up his arm from his fresh wounds. 

Lucky number twenty-seven, Falcone had been pissed he'd killed a member of the GCPD without being given a direct order to do so. There were very few marks he considered lucky, but this one had brought him Jim Gordon. 

Victor titled his head spotting Oswald limp his way back down the hill. He seemed way too happy for a guy in a graveyard… 

“Victor! Victor you're never going to believe what just happened to me.” He shouted, coming around to the driver side door, and pulling it open. 

Zsasz didn't guess. He was sure Oswald was going to tell him anyw— 

“I just met my father!” 

Zsasz blinked. 

He didn't believe it. 

“Strange was right! Something really good happened. I won't have to leave Gotham now! He says I can stay with him. You won't have to worry about me anymore. Oh! I should introduce you.” 

“No, that's okay Oswald.” 

Oswald stuttered to a stop. “Why not?” 

Victor frowned, because this was probably a lie, because this man was probably an actor trying to lure Oswald into a trap, because of some past discretion Penguin or even he had committed, because Oswald was naïve… 

…because what if it was true… 

He needed to say this right the first time. 

“Oswald,” Victor started slow and ponderous, giving time to let the sentence properly formulate in his mind. “If you're really going to start a new life with your dad, and be a good person…” 

Oh. It dawned on Victor, there was only on way for this sentence to go… 

“We can't be friends anymore.” 

He stared into Oswald's pale eyes, watching the tears begin to bead along his heavy lashes. 

Had they ever really been friends? Or had that one sacrificed himself to protect James Gordon? 

Oswald nodded as if in answer, fiercely batting his eyes to clear the tears away. “I wish only the best for you my friend. I will never forget how you helped me and I only hope one day I'll be able to help you in return.” 

And with that Oswald turned and trudged back up the hill. It seemed oddly fitting to Victor to have another friend not-buried in the cemetery.

* * *

The second Oswald was out of sight Victor moved the car. He tailed them out to one of the old sprawling manors that lined the city's park. 

It wasn't a warehouse or a back-alley apartment on some rival gang's turf. 

It was real? 

It was real. 

Zsasz didn't belong here.

* * *

It was official he had too many burner phones… 

Where was it? 

…maybe he also had too many jackets…. 

No, he had an adequate amount of jackets. 

Okay, maybe there were too many in this particular safe house. 

Found it! 

His heart sank. 

It was Oswald's burner… he wasn't supposed to call. 

He flipped the phone open and hesitated, unsure of what to say, how to address… “Hello?” 

“Hello Victor,” Penguin purred. “I'm back.”

* * *

Victor picked his way around the interior of the manor that he'd only seen once before. 

There was a dead dog under the kitchen sink, viscera clogging the garbage disposal and a severed head on the dining room table. 

It looked like he'd missed one hell of a party. 

Penguin had of course filled him in on all the gory little details. 

He never should have left. 

A good friend wouldn't have left. 

He'd always known… 

Oswald would die if he stayed in Gotham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have come to the realization that I only write tragedies...
> 
> So good news is I think I have an idea for how I can do part 4. Bad news it means I'll be starting yet another draft of it and I'll largely be scrapping the roughly 40 pages I had written. So... there's no way anything will be posted before Gotham's series finale. More good news though is after I'm done with part 4, part 5 is already written! 
> 
> As always anon comment is enabled and I would appreciate any feedback whatsoever. Especially if you have ideas or something you'd like to see in part 4.

**Author's Note:**

> Random Trivia:
> 
> This fic spawned from the fact Oswald somehow magically gets a change of clothes from his tar and feathered outfit to when he meets his dad at the cemetery. My sister was like, wait... how? And I super casual like was all, well, obviously he went to Zsasz after Ed.
> 
> My working title for this was "Good things happen to bad people" but when I originally wrote this I was visiting my mother who lives off the grid, so the file got corrupted at one point trying to upload to the internet and somehow that file title got shortened to "things. happen" and I was like dang you right corrupt random corrupt file.
> 
> It took me over three weeks to edit Oswald's part and only two days to edit Zsasz's because of the difference in how they think. I feel like there still may be errors though, so if you catch one please let me know.


End file.
